


An Inappropriate Use of Campus Wi-Fi

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fingerfucking, M/M, Masturbation, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-29
Updated: 2012-09-29
Packaged: 2017-11-15 06:32:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/524166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson is a professor at the local medical school, and his stupid boyfriend is trying to get him fired.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Inappropriate Use of Campus Wi-Fi

**Author's Note:**

> I happened across [this](http://textsfrombakerstreet.tumblr.com/post/32471763546/submitted-by-sholmess) post on the [textsfrombakerstreet](http://textsfrombakerstreet.tumblr.com/) tumblr and
> 
> it's 1,100 words of porn. Whoops.

John risked a glance at his computer screen and immediately looked away, cheeks burning.

“Fifteen minutes left,” he called out, croaking a bit on the front end. Approximately half of his class remained, bent low over their desks and scribbling frantically across their exams. John’s eyes slid back to the screen, his face carefully blank as he reached for the mouse and clicked aimlessly in an attempt to look busy, leaned his chin on his hand, cool as you like.

On the screen, Sherlock smirked warmly at him from an open Skype window and slid his fist slowly down the erection jutting against his naked stomach.

John stared, transfixed, at his cock, looking thick and hard and impossibly slick as Sherlock’s long fingers moved smoothly up and down. He fought the urge to reach out and shift the screen again, to glance behind him to make absolutely certain there was nothing even remotely reflective behind him. Sherlock moved his other hand to roll his balls in his palm, tugging lightly. His lips parted and John could hear the breathy sigh as if Sherlock were sitting right in front of him, propped up on his desk and moaning as he fisted his cock.

Christ, that was a thought. John checked for the dozenth time that the sound was on mute, glanced around the lecture hall, then fixed his attention back on Sherlock.

Who had tipped his head back against the cushion of the grey chair in their flat, his legs tucked up in the seat, knees spread wide. He began to slowly pump his hips, thrusting his cock into the tight circle of his fist, and fuck, what John wouldn’t give to have his lips wrapped around him instead.

Sherlock’s hips stilled and his strokes came faster, his wrist twisting at the head in a motion John knew would make Sherlock gasp and arch his back just so. Sherlock’s mouth was open, his chest not quite heaving, and John held his breath as Sherlock tensed, his motions becoming jerky and uneven.

Sherlock abruptly removed his hand and gripped his thigh, taking in long, deep breaths. John released his breath in a long sigh and clenched a fist, forcibly resisting the urge to adjust the erection that was beginning to throb in his trousers.

He stared as Sherlock lifted his head, his eyes gleaming, and slid two fingers of one hand into his mouth. Even across the less-than-stellar webcam feed, John could see the flush sitting high on Sherlock’s cheeks, the disarray of his wild curls. Sherlock closed his eyes and slowly worked his fingers between lips and tongue. He slid them out, shining with spit, and reached down between his legs.

John bit the inside of his cheek as Sherlock slowly thrust his middle finger into his tight hole. He saw his chest hitch and his mouth drop open as he added a second finger, _felt_ the groan he imagined rumbling through Sherlock throat as he fucked himself, easing his fingers in deep and deliberate.

Sherlock opened his eyes, half-lidded and dark, and pierced John through the screen. He returned a hand to his erection, stroking himself in counterpoint with the thrusts of his fingers. His eyes fluttered closed again, and John’s fingernails dug into his hands as Sherlock’s lips formed his name in a drawn out moan.

John nearly bit through his tongue when a chair squeaked and student stood to turn in his test. He gave him a tight nod when he dropped the exam in the box at the front of the hall, then checked the clock.

“Five minute warning,” he said, glancing around at the smattering of students still hunched over their exams. He looked back to the screen and Sherlock smiled slowly, then said, “Yes, professor,” his lips forming the words deliberately as his hand sped up on his cock.

There were days when John despaired over inattentive students and poor exam grades and wondered why he ever thought teaching would be a prime career path. Today was not one of those days.

Sherlock fucked himself on his fingers and John’s cock ached in his trousers. He wanted to step through the screen, grab Sherlock by the legs and drag him down onto the floor, on his back, long legs wrapped around John’s waist as he pinned his wrists to the floor. He wanted to fuck Sherlock into the floorboards, make him come without touching his cock, listen to Sherlock’s shivering moans as John’s thick cock pounded into him. Instead he bit his cheek his cheek hard, fisted his hand on his thigh, watched as Sherlock’s hand moved faster on his cock, imagined the groans as Sherlock’s mouth opened, eyes closed, head dropped back against the cushion.

Sherlock’s hips began to hitch and thrust, backwards onto his fingers, up into his fist. His toes curled and flexed against the cushion, the muscles in his legs and his abdomen tightened, his hips stuttered and his hand trembled as his strokes dropped their quick rhythm. John watched as Sherlock screwed up his eyes and arched away from the chair, his cock pulsing a thick ribbon of come onto his stomach, his hand still working his length, fingers buried deep in his arse.

John’s cock throbbed in sympathy and he imagined Sherlock’s tight hole clenching around him while he gasped and moaned through his orgasm.

Panting visibly, Sherlock slipped his fingers from his arse and slowly stretched his legs out in front of him. He cupped his softening cock in one hand, rubbed the other over his thighs, up across his glistening chest. Eyes closed, coming down in a slow spiral, Sherlock didn’t pay any mind as John got up, locked the door to the lecture hall now emptied out of students, then walked back to the computer and clicked off the mute button.

Sherlock’s slowing pants filled the silence of the hall, and John planted his hands on his desk and watched as Sherlock stretched and arched, letting out a long groan and relaxing into the leather seat.

“Pleased with yourself, then?” John bit his lip to smother a grin as Sherlock’s eyes gleamed under the sweaty fringe of his hair.

“Mmm, immensely,” he rumbled, his voice low and smoky. He raised an eyebrow at John. “Test went well, I trust?”

John narrowed his eyes, glanced down pointedly at the erection straining against his trousers, watched Sherlock’s eyes follow. A corner of Sherlock’s lips quirked.

“Very well, indeed,” he drawled, and a shiver sparked down John’s spine.

He grabbed his briefcase and stuffed the exams into it, swinging his jacket off the back of his chair.

“I’ll be home in twenty minutes,” he said. “You better as hell be exactly where you are when I get there.”

Sherlock grinned lazily, moved a finger through the come on his stomach and sighed, “Yes, professor.”


End file.
